The Moment I Knew
by Nicoli Resnov
Summary: On June 15th, Sherlock Holmes falls to his death from the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. The next day, he wakes up in Molly Hooper's flat, entangled in the sheets on her bed, along with the pathologist herself. A week after that, he kisses her goodbye and leaves London. He doesn't see her again for almost two years.
1. Chapter 1

On June 15th, Sherlock Holmes falls to his death from the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

The next day, he wakes up in Molly Hooper's flat, entangled in the sheets on her bed, along with the pathologist herself.

A week after that, he kisses her goodbye and leaves London. He doesn't see her again for almost two years.

* * *

On November 21st, Molly Hooper turns 30 years old.

She wakes up at 8.30am, checks her phone, and finds that she has 4 texts. All of them are birthday wishes from her friends.

None of them are from Sherlock Holmes.

After showering, she pads into her room to get dressed. She stops when she sees herself in the full length mirror.

The towel wrapped around her can no longer conceal her growing stomach. She touches it absentmindedly, glad that she has at least one reminder of her consulting detective.

When clothed, she feeds Toby and fixes herself breakfast.

While washing her bowl in the sink afterwards, her phone rings. Her heart leaps. It isn't him.

"Mary?"

"Happy birthday, Mols!" her friend greets her in a sing-song voice. Molly laughs.

"Thanks! So, are you coming to see me today, or am I doomed to spend the day like a stereotypical 30 year old single woman. I'm scared Toby's getting tired of me blowing my nose into his fur while I mourn my lack of a love life."

Mary laughs, but Molly can picture the expression on her face. She doesn't mean to make things awkward.

Mary and John know who the child's father is, they both believe that he threw himself off the roof while his best friend watched; they both believe that her baby will grow up without knowing its dad.

"Actually, John and I were wondering if you'd like to spend the day with us. Uh… Mrs Hudson's baked you a cake actually, so try and act surprised when you get here."

"That sounds great, what time should I be round?"

"Oh, hang on," there is the sound of a muffled conversation from Mary's end, and Molly almost thinks she hears John hiss, '_No, we're not ready yet!' _before the other woman replies, "Is about 4 okay?"

"Fine, that's fine. See you then."

"Bye, love."

"Bye."

After hanging up, Molly is left in her silent flat. The only sound is Toby's purring as he rubs himself up against her ankles, leaving grey and white hairs on her leggings.

* * *

_"When will you__ be back?"_

_"…I don't know."_

_There's a pause before Molly smiles sadly. _

_"It hurts you to say that doesn't it?" _

_He doesn't answer her, running his hands down her arms and linking their fingers. He's wearing his gloves and scarf and that ridiculous wool coat even though it's June and any ordinary man would be living in shorts and t-shirts._

_Then again, he isn't an ordinary man._

_"Will you be back for my birthday?"_

_There is another pause, in which he presses his lips to the back of her hand._

_"I'll try."_

_"I need you to promise."_

_"I promise you I'll try my best to be back for your birthday. Maybe I'll even make _you _coffee, as a gift."_

_He's trying to cheer her up, but Molly doesn't want to smile. He's leaving her, leaving everything and everyone he knows and she can't be sure that he'll ever come back._

_"I have to go now."_

_"I know. I'll miss you."_

_His only response to this is to kiss her softly on the forehead, on both cheeks, and finally on the lips. It's quick and chaste, but she doesn't think she'd be able to let him go if he gave her much more. _

_Then he's gone, out of the door with a quick smile and a swirl of black fabric. _

_Molly Hooper leans against the wall and lets out a sob. _

* * *

At 3.30pm, Molly straightens her new dress in the mirror, checks that Toby is still sleeping on her bed, and pulls on her coat. She grabs her handbag and shuts the front door to her flat, shivering slightly in the cold air.

At 3.43pm, she taps the front door to 221 Baker Street with the bronze doorknocker.

Mrs Hudson answers, a grin plastered over her perpetually smiling face.

"Molly, dear! Come in, it's too cold out there for you. I hope you took a cab!"

"Oh, no, I was fine to walk, really." Molly allows her coat to be taken from her, setting her bag on the hallway floor and pointing up the stairs. "Shall I go on up?"

"No!" the old woman says, too quickly, "I mean, let's just have a chat for a bit, my love. How's the baby doing?"

Molly's hands ghost over her abdomen through the soft material of the maternity dress Mary had helped her choose a few weeks ago.

"He's fine. A few kicks, I'm not sure if that's normal or not, but everything feels right."

"Everyone's differe- did you call it a 'he'?"

Molly claps her hands over her mouth, regretting her choice of words.

"I wasn't going to tell anyone…"

"A boy. Oh, that's wonderful!" Mrs Hudson whispers, tears filling her eyes as she pulls the young woman into a tight hug. The woman may be small, but she's much stronger than she appears.

"He would have been so proud, you know. He pretended he didn't care about anyone, but he must have loved you, I can tell."

Molly can't think of a response, and she's glad when Mary calls down the stairs, "Molly? You can come up now!"

"Come on, let's go celebrate." Molly smiles at Mrs Hudson, who is hastily mopping her eyes with the sleeve of her purple blouse.

They ascend the stairs, arm in arm.

Molly pushes open the door to 221B and is almost knocked backed by a collective shout of;

"SURPRISE!"


	2. Chapter 2

Crowded into the living room is a group of her friends. Mary, John, Mrs Hudson, Greg, Meena, and even Mycroft are there. Her eyes are shining with tears as she takes them all in, rushing forward to envelope each person in a warm hug.

When she finally let's go of the army doctor and his girlfriend, she makes a sound between a sob and a laugh, grateful that she has such wonderful, wonderful friends.

"We brought presents as well!" Greg announces, smiling at her in a way that tells Molly he and his wife are on yet another break.

"Honestly, you didn't have to go to so much trouble… Shall I open them now?"

Molly is guided towards the black leather armchair in the centre of the room. She sinks into it, and though she'd only ever visited one time while he was here, she knows immediately whose chair it is. Something in the looks on John and Mycroft's faces confirm her suspicions.

She opens her presents and cards as they are handed to her. There are a few for her (a set of scented candles from Meena and a heavy silver locket from Mycroft that looks too old for it not to be some sort of heirloom) but mostly, she receives gifts for the baby.

They all laugh at the babygrow Lestrade gives to her – she has to stifle her giggles with a hand over her mouth as the words 'Honorary Yarder' written on the front. Meena also gives her a pair of tiny Converse trainers in black, earning a collective "Awwww" from the women in the room. Next is a handmade blanket from Mrs Hudson, made of some kind of soft white fabric; tiny bumblebees are embroidered around the edges.

"It's beautiful, thank you so much."

"You're very welcome, dear."

Mary hands her a large box with a silver bow stuck to the top.

"We were originally only going to get one or two things, but John apparently had other ideas." She says fondly, stroking the doctor's hair from her position on the arm of his chair. He shrugs as they all chuckle.

"I'm allowed to spoil it if I want, that's my duty as godfather!" he protests, jokingly sending Molly a pointed stare.

"Of course you're going to be godfather, there's no one better for the job!" Molly notices Mycroft's raised eyebrow, "Oh god, sorry Mycroft. You're promoted to the position of favourite uncle, I swear."

She receives a tiny smile from Mycroft before she goes back to the box.

After a brief struggle with the tight lid, she manages to prise it open, and she gasps.

Inside is almost an entire wardrobes worth of clothing for her baby. Most of the items are neutral colours, but at the bottom she finds the most stunning outfit she has ever seen for a child.

A pale blue striped button down, dark grey trousers and one other thing; a tiny navy blue coat, almost identical to the famous black Belstaff.

"I- I _know _it's a bit pointless buying boy's clothes when you don't know the sex, but… I had to buy it."

John's voice cracks slightly, and everyone goes silent. All eyes are on them, the two people who have lost more than anyone can imagine, even the detective's brother. One has lost his best friend, the man that made his life worth living again; the other has lost the father of her child, the man she had loved for the past 3 years, who had been cruelly taken from her just as he began to return her affections.

Molly wants to tell them all right then, to shout "It's all okay, he's alive!" but she knows exactly what is at stake so she stays silent and simply take John's hand and squeezes it tight.

"It's perfect, John. Thank you."

* * *

Much of the evening passes without any drama; when all the presents are opened, they nibble on the food that has been laid out on the kitchen table (it looks slightly forlorn without the pile of unfinished experiments it had been home to a few months before) and chat as a group.

Mostly, they talk about the detective, but there are no sad stories. John is wheezing with laughter as he tells them about the time he broke into the house of a suspect that had been avoiding him, only to find the person in a rather questionable position with his wife on the bedroom floor.

"God, you should have seen the look on his face," John's face is bright red by now, "He climbed straight back out the window and I found him in his room when we got home, rocking back and forth."

"I think I've still got the pictures somewhere!" Greg pipes up, and they all burst out laughing again.

They can't contain themselves when Mycroft regales them with the tale of how his little brother was stung by a wasp age six, only to have his shorts and pants pulled down and an onion rubbed on his backside by their eccentric Greek cook.

When they're finally calm, they talk a bit more about the baby. Molly allows John to place a hand on her bump while her son kicks happily at his hand. John excuses himself to the bathroom, still grinning, and his seat is taken almost immediately by Mycroft.

He is impeccably dress, as usual, but he has taken his grey jacket off and rolled the sleeves of his pristine shirt above his elbows in an attempt to look more casual.

"Would you mind if I-" he gestures to the spot where John's hand had lain.

"Of course. Here-" Molly takes his hand gently. His fingers are cold, and she can feel the temperature difference when she guides his hand to the area where the fluttering sensation was focused. They wait for a second, Mycroft's eyes focused unblinkingly on her abdomen, before there is a sharp jab against the barrier of his hand. Then they're both smiling, wider than Molly had ever seen Mycroft smile before.

"Molly?"

John is standing in the doorway, eyeing Mycroft, but he makes no comment. "I've just found this. I dunno who it's from, but it's addressed to you."

He holds up a parcel wrapped messily in brown paper. As he crosses the room to hand it to her, Mycroft stands from his chair and slinks away to talk to Lestrade.

John is the only person who watches her open the suspicious gift. When the final strips of paper are torn away, they both stare at it in shock, before Molly bolts down the hallway and into the bathroom.

On the floor where her feet had been, is a tiny black t-shirt, small enough to fit a new-born baby.

Across the chest are 5 simple words:

"_I believe in Sherlock Holmes." _


	3. Chapter 3

I haven't had a chance to say much to the people reading, but I'd just like to say a HUGE thank you to everyone who's read/reviewed this story! This is the last part, but I'm trying to work out the basics for a sequel at the moment. My Tumblr is peetaholmes and I'm posting regular updates on their about how I'm progressing, so feel free to have a look! Onwards we go! :)

* * *

"Molly? Molly, please let me in."

At 5.54pm, Mary Morstan knocks on the bathroom door. Molly Hooper is locked inside, sitting on the cold toilet seat. She can feel that there are tears on her cheeks, but she lets them slide over her face and down her neck. She ignores the frantic pounding from the other side of the door.

Molly knows exactly who the shirt is from.

And she knows exactly why he sent it.

All day she'd been sneaking glances towards the door. Some part of her had really believed he would show up, that he would burst through the door and everyone would gasp and ask him how he was alive and he would smirk and tell them the story in a tone that implied it was obvious. Then he would see her staring at him and everyone else would be pushed aside as he made his way to her, to sweep her off her feet and carry her off to a life where they and their child would be safe.

Molly Hooper knows that some fantasies aren't meant to come true.

There is no doubt in her mind that the gift was a message from him. As soon as she saw it, she knew that he was telling her he was still alive. That he would be back one day.

That it wouldn't be today.

The thuds against the door have stopped, and she hears a whispered conversation in the hall, ending with a soft tapping on the wood.

"Molly, its John."

Without questioning his motives, Molly opens the door, expecting to find Mary stood with him. Instead, he stands alone, and she can hear a tone of concern in the conversation from the living room.

She steps back to let him in, resuming her place on the loo. John shuts the door behind him and leans against it, taking her in.

"Oh, Molly," he sighs, shaking his head, "I am… _so _sorry. I should have opened it; I should have checked what was inside before I gave it to you. God, if I ever find out who sent it-"

Molly shakes her head. She won't tell him that she knows the source; she can't do that to him.

John sees her blinking rapidly, and kneels on the floor in front of her, taking both of her hands in his.

And everything they've both felt in the past 5 months, every thought, every secret, comes to a climax and suddenly they're both crying and clutching one another and they can almost feel the loss as if it's a solid object. The embrace is in no way romantic, they are simply two people who have lost the most important person in their lives.

They stay entwined for nearly quarter of an hour, in which time they find themselves standing up, with Molly's head buried in John's neck as he rubs her gently on the back.

"He said he'd be here." she says hopelessly.

John's hand tenses briefly, before he continues rubbing circular motions into the material on her dress.

"I know, Mols. I'm sorry that the baby will grow up without knowing what a brilliant man he was."

Molly's reply bursts out before she can stop herself.

"It's a boy. I want to call him Sherlock."

John pulls back, holding her at arm length with a look of slight shock on his face.

"You're serious?"

Molly only nods, closing her eyes as a few more tears slip out. John pauses before squeezing her tightly and kissing her affectionately on the cheek.

"That's wonderful, Molly. He'd be so proud of you, of both of you."

* * *

John had finally convinced her to leave the bathroom, drying both their eyes beforehand. As she entered the kitchen, the lights went off and Molly was suddenly surrounded by candlelight and the sound of everyone singing. She gave a watery giggle, almost blowing out the candles in the process.

When the candles were extinguished for good, she cut the cake and handed slices around. Mycroft polished his off almost immediately, before bidding everyone farewell, patting Molly's hand and sweeping out of the door. Greg had his piece wrapped in a paper napkin and slipped it into his pocket, leaving soon afterwards in response to a text from his wife. Not on a break anymore, then. Meena ate half of her slice, declaring it "Too good to eat all at once" and twisted a napkin around it, packed it into her handbag and was seen to the door by Mrs Hudson, who insisted on giving her the recipe before she called a cab.

Finally, Molly thanked her friends for everything, gathering all of her presents with their help, and set off home (although John forced her to take a cab this time.)

* * *

When she gets back to her flat, she changes straight into her pyjamas, and slippers. Ensuring that all the other lights are switched off, she curls up on her side in her dimly lit bedroom, trying not to think of the one person who was missing.

She strokes Toby's head idly, calmed by the soft rumble of his purrs, and is just dozing off when soft violin music begins to play.

Molly bolts upright, her sleepy brain wildly running through thoughts of: _He's alive, he's back, he's kept his promise. _

Then she sees that the screen of her phone is illuminating the ceiling above her bed, and she nearly drops it when she sees the word '_Withheld_' in bold letters. Shaking, she presses the green button and holds it to her ear.

"Hello?" her voice is nearly a whisper.

"Molly."

It's all she can do not to sob into the receiver at the sound of his voice. Barely managing to keep the phone in her grip, she breathes:

"Sherlock."

She has almost forgotten how deep his voice is, how it can take her breath away, and sure enough, there is a lump in her throat that she cannot swallow. She can hear his breathing on the other end as he decides what to say and it's a miracle for her that he _is _breathing.

She drops a hand to her bump to calm herself. Does he know? Of course he does, he wouldn't have sent the tshirt otherwise. Is he happy? Will he want anything to do with her once he gets back, or will they go back to how they were before, where he strides into her morgue at any hour and commands her to make him coffee just to have disappeared when she returns?

She receives no answers to these questions in his response.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it."

All of a sudden she is reminded that she's sitting alone in her flat on her birthday, a day that was mostly spent waiting for him to show up and she's so unbelievably angry at him that she almost doesn't trust herself to respond. She can almost see him, holed up in a dingy hotel room in some third world country, pacing as he waits impatiently for her to tell him what he expects to hear. Maybe he thinks she'll say something like "_It's fine, I understand, I love you" _and maybe part of her wants to say it, to hear him sigh contentedly.

She surprises them both.

"I'm sorry too."

At 10.08pm on November 21st, Molly Hooper hangs up on Sherlock Holmes.

She doesn't hear from him again for over a year.


End file.
